


(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Written for undermistletoe's Cliches and Crack Days; They can't be more than ten feet away from one another or ___ happens.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** (Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In  
**Rating:** NC17  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Word count:** 10, 575  
**Spoilers:** none, save for subtext between brothers.  
**Warnings:** graphic m/m sex, incest, top!Sam, mild D/s overtones…crack?  
**Prompt:** Written for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/profile)[**undermistletoe**](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/)'s Cliches and Crack Days; They can't be more than ten feet away from one another or ___ happens.  
**Notes:** I cannot even begin to imagine what this fic would’ve turned out like had it not been for my lovely beta [ ](http://technosage.livejournal.com/profile)[**technosage**](http://technosage.livejournal.com/) reining me in and forcing me to be “good” and not “crappy/mediocre” like I wanted to be. Kisses, baby! ♥  
  
  
  
  
 

**(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In  
By keepaofthecheez**

  
  
  
  
  
Later, Dean would remember that Certain Doom smells a lot like fried chicken.  
  
He lowers his GLOCK 45 in the alley, squinting to find the shadowy creature grinning back at him through slitted, yellow eyes and teeth that would’ve sent a dentist screaming into the night. The fact that the damn thing’s still _breathing_ , much less mocking him with bad dental hygiene, is a bit of an insult given the row of silver bullets still smoking holes in its chest.  
  
“You’re gonna regret that,” it sings, voice a shrill promise that has Dean’s jaw working in tandem with his shoulder as he readies the pistol again. But the creature’s already shifting form, melting away with a high-pitched cackling that makes Dean’s skin crawl. He mutters a curse and starts forward.  
  
The sound of skidding feet on pavement halts his pursuit of the unknown threat and he barely has time to lower his weapon before Sam’s ripping it out of his hand, expression furious and more than a little concerned.  
  
“Damn it, Dean, I told you to _wait_ for me,” his brother snits, eyes doing an automatic search over Dean’s body for any possible injury. “What the hell were you thinking?”  
  
Dean shrugs, flashes a weak smile. “See bad guy, shoot gun?”  
  
But Sam’s hardly amused. Horrified would be a more apt description for the way his brother’s eyes round, lips pressing into a hard, flat line. “Tell me you didn’t,” he hisses, an impressive feat through tightly clenched molars.  
  
Dean can feel a surge of annoyance building as he shakes off Sam’s hold and stumbles away to the sound of a scuffle breaking out between two alley cats somewhere nearby. “Pull your panties outta your crack, man, I had it under control.” Sam’s staring at him, breathing hard, and a flush begins to work its way up Dean’s neck. He reaches back to scratch at an unknown itch. “Okay, maybe I shoulda waited for you. But I had the chance, so I took it.”  
  
Sam’s been silent way longer than usual considering the mad-on written across his features. But at that he explodes into motion, crowding Dean up against a cold brick building, hands knotted in the flannel stretching across Dean’s chest. “It was an _imp_ , Dean.”  
  
Dean’s brows cock. “A what?” Sam narrows his eyes, and it hits him. “Oh. _Oh_. Damn, I didn’t know those were real.”  
  
“Everything fucked up and ridiculous is real,” Sam grits out, and Dean has to smirk at the frustration coloring his little brother’s voice.  
  
“Not gonna get any argument from me, Sammy. I watch the presidential elections.”   
  
Not even a twitch of lips. Dean sighs; Sam glares. “Just tell me you didn’t piss it off,” Sam says in a slightly pleading tone. When Dean doesn’t answer, his pained expression grows even more foreboding and his fingers grip Dean’s shirt tighter. “What did you _do?_ ”  
  
“Hey. Dude, you’re starting to piss _me_ off,” Dean growls, smacking Sam’s hands away and shoving his brother back. They’re both huffing and puffing now, and Dean doesn’t even know what they’re arguing about. Not that they ever really need a reason. “What’d you expect, Sam? The damn thing was terrorizing the locals…should I have bought it a steak dinner and discussed its _feelings_ before wasting it?”  
  
“This is _so_ not even funny, Dean—”  
  
“Yeah, no kidding.” He props a heel up against the wall, eyeing Sam with cool consideration. “You ready to tell me what the hell’s got you acting like the sky’s fallin’, Chicken Little?” He pauses, snickers a little. “Okay, _that_ was funny.”  
  
Sam glares down at him from a good three inches, and Dean’s chuckles just grow louder. “Hilarious,” Sam deadpans. “I hope you keep your sense of humor when that thing gives us a pair of donkey ears and a tail.”  
  
The laughter chokes in his throat. “What?”  
  
There’s a glitter of something distinctly mercenary in Sam’s gaze. “Then again, it’ll probably just be _you_. I wonder if there’s a zoo around here…you’ll have to fit in somewhere until I can find a counter-spell.”  
  
“I will kill you dead and burn the bones.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Dean adds hesitantly, “So, what’re we dealing with here?”  
  
Thankfully Sam doesn’t point out that it probably would’ve been a good idea if they’d figured that out _first_ , but Dean’s already kicking himself for ditching Sam at the library for the _Fresh Doughnuts!_ sign across the street. If not for his damn sweet tooth, he never would’ve been in the alley when that damn thing had shown up.   
  
“They’re _imps_ , Dean,” Sam explains in a longsuffering tone that makes Dean long to shove a fist in Sam’s mouth. Knock a few of those pretty white teeth crooked and loose. “Pranksters, more mischievous than malevolent.”  
  
“Semantics,” Dean grouses, already starting to remember certain details about the spirits in question. His eyes close briefly. “These things…they usually serve witches, right? Evil henchmen.”  
  
Sam’s sigh is deep and beleaguered. “All witches aren’t evil, Dean.”  
  
Dean waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah, and wendigos are just emotionally misunderstood. Spare me the politically correct crap, Sam. The point is, these guys serve the bad ones. Right?”  
  
Sam’s features are twisted like he just found a half a dead cockroach in his macaroni casserole. “And you went and _shot_ one. Jesus Christ.” He rubs a hand down his face while Dean’s stomach takes a roiling turn for the worse.  
  
“Fucking wonderful,” he mumbles, recalling the creature’s parting words. “Man, a tail so does _not_ go with these jeans.”  
  
Sam ignores the lame attempt at a joke in favor of studying the area where the imp had been before it vanished. When he turns to look at Dean again, there’s a pensive look on his face. “When you shot it, it disappeared, right? There are texts that say these things are sometimes contained in an artifact…a gemstone or an amulet. They’re summoned.”  
  
“Just keeps getting better and better.” Dean grimaces. “And we have no idea what this artifact is or where it’d be.”  
  
Sam’s features are anxious and more than a little sympathetic. “Right now, I think that’s the least of our worries.”  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
Sam remembers waking up to Jessica’s voice, warm and husky-soft with sleep. He remembers slow, lazy kisses in bed and how incredible that was compared to the many mornings he’d awoken to the sound of his father’s gruff voice, declaring they had to be on the road before dawn. He’s clinging to a whisper-thin memory of those sweeter days when a loud thump jerks him awake, followed by a sleep-roughened growl of “Shower. Gonna.”  
  
Sam considers pulling a pillow over his head as Dean stumbles by his bed, but settles for slinging an arm over his eyes and grunting out, “Don’t use all the damn towels” in as threatening a voice as he can manage due to the blinding pain in his forehead.  
  
Okay, so that last round probably hadn’t been the best idea. But hell, they’d both been freaked out, and a freaked out Dean Winchester was scarier than coming across Marilyn Manson and Michael Moore in a dark alley. Together. Without a machete. But the bottom line was, the countless amount of tequila and gin and one extremely drunken cab ride back to the motel had been worth the look of relief on Dean’s face when they’d both realized his brother had gotten off scot-free for screwing around with the minor daemon.  
  
A smile flirts at the corner of his lips and he rolls onto his back, arms behind his head. The room’s blessedly quiet; he can’t even hear the sound of Dean puttering around in the bathroom, which is…odd. His brother isn’t the most graceful person in the morning, but Sam supposes Dean’s being extra careful due to his own hangover.  
  
“ _What the fuck, Sammy?_ ”  
  
Sam eyes fly open to find Dean standing over him, sheer panic sharpening his red-rimmed green gaze. “Dean?” Sam forces out, throat thick with surprise and concern as Dean slaps a hand out and nearly knocks over the cheap lamp covering a questionable scorch mark on the wooden nightstand. “What…?”  
  
“Why didn’t you answer me?” Dean’s already talking over him, words fast and angry. “I almost broke my neck, jackass!”  
  
Sam can only stare, mouth wide open. A beat passes, and then, “Dean. What are you _talking_ about?”  
  
Dean’s face turns so red that Sam’s momentarily fascinated. “I was…in the bathroom I…” He grits his teeth and blurts out, “I couldn’t _see_ , Sam.”  
  
The immediate knot of fear begins to unravel in his belly, and Sam presses the heel of his hand against his left eye before sinking back against the headboard. “Okay, that’s it. You gotta stop denying that you’re near-sighted, Dean. We’re getting your eyes checked if I have to drag you to Wal-Mart myself.”  
  
“Wal-Mart…the fuck?” Dean’s on the bed in an instant, dragging Sam up and nearly shaking him silly. “I couldn’t _see_ ,” he repeats on a rough hiss of breath. “Like, at all! I went fucking blind in there, Sammy, and nearly brought down the shower rack on my head! And I called for help but you were too busy doing God knows what to bother answering me!”  
  
Sam reaches up for his brother’s trembling hands, taking careful note of his pale, shell-shocked features. Dean’s freckles are standing out in stark relief and it’s a grim reminder of a tiny hospital room and a sickeningly hopeless feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Hey,” he begins, licking his lips and trying to keep calm until he can figure out whatever’s going on. “Relax, okay? Just…look at me.”  
  
“I am looking at you,” Dean says through his teeth, but his fingers lose the death grip on Sam’s shoulders.  
  
“Like you’re gonna stake me through the heart,” Sam cracks weakly. “Okay, you went…blind.” It’s a struggle not to cringe as the words come out of his mouth. “And you were crying out for me?”  
  
Dean tries to hide his own wince, sitting back on the bed and running a hand down his face. “Christ, when you say it like _that_ , it sounds so…”  
  
“Unbelievable?”  
  
“Pathetic,” Dean finishes, glaring. “And I was _not_ crying out for you, dude. Get over yourself.”  
  
Sam’s hands fly up in exasperation. “I’m just trying to figure out what the hell…” He trails off, eyes widening. “Oh, crap.” He catches Dean’s stare, sees his brother reach the same conclusion, but he’s already jumping out of bed and fumbling with his shirt as the words trip over his tongue. “It must’ve gotten you after all, Dean.”  
  
“No shit!” Dean’s on his feet, too, all ten fingers dragging through tufts of close-cropped hair. “Son of a _bitch!_ So, what, the damn thing straight up Helen Keller’d me?”  
  
“Maybe it was just a momentary glitch,” Sam offers. “Maybe it didn’t go through all the way.”  
  
“Maybe it didn’t go through all the way?” Dean parrots, sounding more and more hysterical with every syllable. “Jesus Christ, why does that freak me out even more?”  
  
Sam stares at him for a long moment, then reaches out and grabs Dean’s arm. “Go back in there.”  
  
“No fucking way!”  
  
“Fine, then I will,” Sam grits out, already turning and stomping toward the bathroom. He can hear Dean bitching, and slams the door with a satisfying crack of sound. Only…there’s no sound. Not even the loud buzzing of the crappy air conditioning unit that’d put up a hell of a fight to keep him awake last night. Just…nothing.  
  
And that’s when Sam loses it.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
Dean wishes he knew the exact moment his life went from manageably Fucked Up, to Complete Fucking Sideshow. He figures it was probably somewhere in the middle of the hour and a half he and Sam just spent testing out the limits and repercussions of the whammy put on them by some damned jokester spirit.  
  
Sam’s pacing back and forth across the threadbare carpeting, talking nonstop and generally looking like his head might start spinning around in circles any moment. It’s a sight Dean might’ve found slightly amusing, if not exasperating, not even twelve hours ago. But right now? He’s trying to keep his own pea soup vomit down.  
  
“I just don’t _get_ it,” Sam finally comes to a close several long minutes later. “Why curse us both? And what the hell kind of curse makes it so you can’t be more than ten feet away from someone or else you lose a vital sense?”  
  
“And why couldn’t it’ve been with Angelina Jolie?” Dean adds, frowning at the absolute unfairness of it all. “Like I’m not stuck with your ass enough as it is.” He flops back onto one of the beds, ignoring the heat from Sam’s Bitchy Glare of Doom. “Christ, why couldn’t _I_ have been the one not to hear anything, you fucking griper?”  
  
“Oh, this is so typical,” Sam snarls, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “I _told_ you to _wait_ for me! Why do you always have to play the goddamn hero, Dean?”  
  
“We all gotta have a hobby,” Dean snaps, sitting up and barely resisting the urge to lob his pillow at his whiny younger brother. “Hey, here’s an idea, Sam. Instead of bitching, why don’t you fucking help me figure out how to fix this mess?”  
  
Sam grinds his teeth, but he's visibly chilling out. “Okay. _Okay_ , we just…” He drags in a deep breath, shoving hair off his forehead. “We just need a starting point.”  
  
“Library?” Dean wonders, picking at a frayed thread along the seam of his shirt.  
  
“Yeah, because that worked _so well_ the last time.”  
  
“You’re just pissed it hexed you, too,” Dean mumbles, glancing up to gift Sam with a thin smile. “So, if not the library, then what? I doubt we’re gonna find any fartsy little occult shops in the middle of Bumfuck, Missouri.”  
  
At that, Sam gets a look on his face that Dean knows all too well. It usually precedes hours of long driving, or digging through piles of dusty, rotting textbooks, and Dean bites back a groan. “Can’t we just use the laptop?”  
  
Sam’s expression melts into confusion, and then he rolls his eyes. “Look, I know this place that might help.” At Dean’s questioning glance, his brother shifts a bit uncomfortably. “I, uh, took a class on the occult my first year at Stanford, okay? Just as a precaution.”  
  
Dean’s openly gaping at him now.  
  
“Anyway,” Sam growls, flushing a little as he turns half-away. “I met this guy, all right? He specializes in this kinda stuff. Has a shop and everything, he might be able to tell us what the hell’s going on.”  
  
Dean’s not quite ready to swallow the revelation that Sam apparently wasn’t as normal as he’d pretended during his years away, but lets it slide for now. “So where is this genius?”  
  
“Las Vegas,” Sam admits, scratching the back of his neck. “He, uh, works part-time as a magician in one of the hotels.” His eyes dare Dean to say anything, but Dean’s too busy whistling his approval.  
  
“Sweet.”  
  
Sam huffs out a laugh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So. The sooner we leave…”  
  
Dean nods, giving a little sigh at the thought of the thirty some-odd hour drive ahead. Then he brightens. “Tell ya what, Sammy. I’ll even let you take the first leg.” He grabs up his set of keys from the table, tosses them at Sam. His brother catches them to his chest, eyebrow disappearing beneath the fringe of his bangs.  
  
“ _Let_ me?”  
  
“Well, you know. In case anything happens, you just can’t hear. I’ll run us into a pole or somethin’.” Dean flashes a smug smile, turns away and starts rolling his clothes back up and into his duffel.  
  
“We’re not gonna be more than ten feet away from each other in the Impala.”  
  
“Can’t be too careful. And hey, Sam? Fuck with my music and your little magic friend’s gonna have more to fix than just your hearing.”  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
The motel they pull into hours later gives Sam the hives before they’re even out of the car. He catches Dean’s apologetic shrug and sighs, hitching the door open. The vacancy sign fizzes and crackles above their heads, several bulbs burned out and missing, and Sam looks away as they enter the makeshift lobby. Dean’s already working his mojo on the overweight, stoic-faced woman manning the desk, and Sam stays well within range leaning against the wall as he watches his brother try to talk the clerk into a cheaper rate. He overhears the infamous question: “King or two queens?” in a scratchy, feminine drawl, and refrains from rolling his eyes as Dean automatically starts to answer.  
  
“Two—”  
  
Sam cuts him off. “We’ll take a king.”  
  
Dean turns around, staring at him like he’s lost his mind while the woman eyes them up and down and smirks. Sam can feel a flush creeping its way up his neck, but ignores both it and Dean as he steps forward. “And if you have anything on the end of the lot…maybe something without occupying guests next door?”  
  
“Sam,” Dean starts between his teeth.  
  
“Yeah. Sure,” the woman says knowingly, taking the wad of cash from between Dean’s outstretched fingers and showing her teeth. “Won’t have any interruptions, I can guarantee.”  
  
Sam manages a smile, grabs Dean and the key the woman offers and bolts. They aren’t five feet outside before Dean whirls around and shoves him. “The fuck was that about, Sam?” he growls, sounding more irritated than Sam really feels the situation warrants. Hell, it’s not like it’s the first time people have intimated they were a couple or some such shit, and Dean’s usually a way better sport about it than Sam.  
  
“What if the beds are too far away from each other?” he asks pointedly, seeing the understanding shift across his brother’s features. “We’re out of salt. You really wanna risk being vulnerable in the middle of the _night?_ ”  
  
“We coulda just pushed them together,” Dean mutters, but he no longer looks ready to maim and destroy.  
  
“What if they’re nailed to the floor?” Sam lifts a brow at Dean’s snort. “Look. It’s a big bed…I think we can handle it for a few nights. We’ve dealt with worse, right?”  
  
Dean grudgingly makes a sound of agreement, and then adds: “You just better keep your monkey arms and beanpole legs on your side.”  
  
“And you better keep your damn knife collection on _yours_ ,” Sam snaps.   
  
Dean slowly breaks out into a smile. “Fair enough.”  
  
They empty the Impala of necessities and head for the room all the way at the other end of the parking lot. Sam slides the key inside the lock, pushing the door open as Dean pushes past him and throws the light switch. “Um…wow.”  
  
“Dealt with worse, right?” Dean mimics him, dropping his stuff on the floor and turning to glare at Sam. “Dude, you just booked us the fucking honeymoon suite.”  
  
Sam swallows, taking in the gaudy furnishings with a bit of hysterical amusement. There’s no mistaking the theme of the room, and his eyes catch on the condom dispenser winking at him from the open bathroom. “Damn, I didn’t even know motels this small _had_ honeymoon suites.”  
  
“That’s because anyone who can afford a goddamn honeymoon wouldn’t stay in a shithole like this,” Dean snaps, and even though he’s half-ready to strangle his brother, Sam can’t help but be perversely grateful for Dean’s whining. At least he can still _hear_ it. “This is just great, Sam.”  
  
Of course, being grateful only goes so far. “Hey, I’m not the one who needed fried doughnuts and got us into this in the first place!”  
  
“Oh, sure, keep throwing _that_ in my face.” A beat of silence passes, and then Dean curses. “I gotta take a dump.”  
  
Sam’s head snaps up in horrified surprise. “Then go! I don’t wanna know about it, Jesus!”  
  
Dean props his hands on his hips, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Don’t move. If I go blind in the middle of battle, I swear I’ll—”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam grits out, disturbed and embarrassed beyond belief, although he can’t really figure out why. He and Dean pretty much passed the line of too much information back when they were still teenagers sharing a bedroom, so he can’t quite figure out why this particular situation is fucking him up so bad. “Jesus,” he mutters again, quieter, turning his back as Dean stomps into the bathroom.  
  
Only a moment of silence goes by before his brother’s head pops back out. “And don’t listen.”  
  
“Oh, my _God!_ ” Sam groans, falling onto the bed and pulling a pillow over his face. The sound of the door slamming after Dean has him sagging in relief.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
After a fairly sleepless night of tug-of-war over sheets and blankets, they take turns showering while the other sits nearby and watches the news. It takes everything Dean has in him not to walk into the bathroom and flush the toilet while Sam’s inside, but since he’s yet to take his own shower, he doesn’t want to afford Sam with a means for retribution. So he just sits, listening to some expressionless blonde anchorwoman go over the day’s stock trades and reports while munching on a bag of chili cheese Fritos he’d scavenged from the vending machine while Sam got ice.  
  
Ten minutes later, he’s lost all sense of compassion where Sam’s concerned and shoves the bathroom door open, coughing as a blast of steam hits him square in the face. “Sammy!” he yells over the rapidfire thrust of water hitting tile, “I know you’re a big boy, but does it really take this long…”  
  
He trails off when Sam rips back the shower curtain, exposing golden-wet skin and muscle, slanted eyes wide with what Dean would label as panic, if not for the smile curving Sam’s lips. “Uh.” He turns, dragging his gaze away from the sight of Sam’s naked chest – and damn it, _why_ did that always seem to throw him for a loop? – and stares at the floor with blinding intensity.   
  
“I know this.” Sam’s deep voice thrums with excitement, and Dean glances back up to find his brother pointing at a raised patch of skin high on his hip. Dean stares, coming closer to study the strange marking as Sam continues. “I mean, I still want to check with Bryant to be sure, but _I know what this is_ , Dean.”  
  
“Mind clueing the rest of us in, Professor?” Dean asks, transfixed by the symbols seemingly branded into his brother’s skin. He’s seen Sam in various stages of undress throughout their lives, but everything seems so much sharper now, more vibrant…the earthy tones and hues almost glistening beneath the dim light in the bathroom. It’s not until he _feels_ the slick heat of Sam that he even realizes he’s reached out to touch, and pulls his fingers away so quickly he nearly cramps.   
  
Sam doesn’t appear to notice, still chattering away about something to do with charms and incantations and the occult. Dean just nods, even though he’s understood all of two words.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean’s gaze snaps up and he blinks at Sam through heavy lashes, seeing his brother’s brow crease. There’s no use even pretending he was listening, so he shrugs his shoulders and grunts. “What?”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, reaching back to turn the shower knob so that the water (blessedly) stops cascading down his shoulders. When his arm shoots out past Dean’s nose, Dean flinches, then immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die when Sam sends him a weird look and comes back with a towel in hand. “What’s up with you?” Sam asks, wrapping the thin cotton around his hips as Dean glares.  
  
“Nothing,” Dean mutters, raking a hand through his hair and wondering the same damn thing himself. He makes a gesture for Sam to go on. “You were geeking, Geekboy?”  
  
Sam’s gaze clears, and the same excitement from before builds in his voice. “It’s a manifestation of the imp’s power. When it goes away, so does the curse.”  
  
“What an interesting piece of logic,” Dean answers blandly. Then, “And how the hell do we get it to go away?”  
  
Sam scowls. “I can’t decipher the language on my own, asshole. I just recognize the symbol. By the way, you should have one, too.”  
  
That gives Dean pause. Without thinking, he reaches for the button to his jeans and shoves the denim down his hips, ignoring Sam’s muted protest. “I don’t see anything,” he says, eyeing familiar pale, freckled flesh. He turns toward the mirror and hears Sam let out another half-laugh, half-curse. “What? I don’t have one.”  
  
“You, uh, you do.” Sam’s voice is wry and amused, and Dean looks back to see his brother rubbing his forehead and trying not to laugh.  
  
“What? Where?” Dean twists comically, and then he sees it. “Oh, son of a _bitch_ , that ain’t right. I thought I smelled something burning earlier…like freaking fried chicken!”  
  
Sam bursts out laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and Dean’s torn between throttling his younger brother and finding the thing that tattooed his _ass_ with demonic symbols and shooting it in the face. Although that’s kind of what got him into this in the first place.  
  
Sam sobers at Dean’s look, although there’s still a glimmer of glee in his dark eyes. “We’ll figure it out, Dean. Just let me get dressed and we can get going.”  
  
“When I find that fucking thing again, I _will_ destroy it with my bare hands.” Dean follows Sam back out into the room, tugging his pants up and glaring hard at every inanimate object unfortunate enough to capture his attention. “Dude, this _sucks._ We gotta end this now.”  
  
“Of course we will,” Sam replies, soothing and calm. “Because man, I gotta tell you. If I have to spend another night in the same bed with you, I might put a hex on you myself. You’re a total blanket hog.”  
  
“Fuck you.”  
  
Sam just laughs again, and as fucking irritating as it is, if Sam’s laughing then things can’t be as bad as they seem. Dean can’t help but think of how much better that makes him feel.  
  
  
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** (Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In  
**Rating:** NC17  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Word count:** 10, 575  
**Spoilers:** none, save for subtext between brothers.  
**Warnings:** graphic m/m sex, incest, top!Sam, mild D/s overtones…crack?  
**Prompt:** Written for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/profile)[**undermistletoe**](http://community.livejournal.com/undermistletoe/)'s Cliches and Crack Days; They can't be more than ten feet away from one another or ___ happens.  
**Notes:** I cannot even begin to imagine what this fic would’ve turned out like had it not been for my lovely beta [ ](http://technosage.livejournal.com/profile)[**technosage**](http://technosage.livejournal.com/) reining me in and forcing me to be “good” and not “crappy/mediocre” like I wanted to be. Kisses, baby! ♥  
  
  
  
  
 

**(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In  
By keepaofthecheez**

  
  
  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”  
  
Sam ignores Dean, searching through the smoky incense and dangling crystals for a familiar face. When his gaze lands on Bryant, he blows out a relieved breath, already starting toward the five-ten blond who looks like he should be running a sports store rather than one that caters to the weird and fantastic.  
  
Bryant catches his gaze, a grin lighting up his features as he comes out from behind the counter to give Sam a friendly thump on the back. “Sam Winchester,” he drawls, squeezing Sam’s bicep and letting his gaze travel past Sam to where Dean stands watching them both with narrowed eyes. “Good to see you, man.”  
  
“Yeah, you, too,” Sam answers sincerely, turning to include Dean in the conversation. He’s halfway through the introduction when he remembers that no one from Stanford ever knew anything about his family. Quickly easing into a transition, he says, “Bryant, this is…this is Dean.”  
  
Bryant holds out a hand which Dean accepts with an easy smile, although Sam thinks he sees something flash in his brother’s green gaze before Bryant’s eyes widen and he starts to pull back, gaze flicking between Sam and Dean. “Nice to meet you.”  
  
“Sam says you can help with our little problem,” Dean says, and Sam frowns at the dismissal. “So, can you?”  
  
“Not sure how much help _I’ll_ be, but I might have something in the back. First I need to know a little more about what we’re dealing with.” Bryant smiles hesitantly and moves toward the back. “Maybe you can start with telling me exactly what happened?”  
  
Sam catches Dean’s elbow when he moves to go past, jerking his brother to a halt and hissing into his ear, “What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s gonna _help_ us, Dean.”  
  
“What do you see in this guy?” is Dean’s response, sneering down his nose and somehow managing to make _Sam_ feel like the shorter one. “And how do we know we can trust him?”  
  
“What other option do we have?” Dean’s mouth tightens as he swallows that truth. Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and softening his voice as he watches Dean intently. “Look, I know…I know this is weird, okay? I know you don’t wanna think about me at Stanford—”  
  
“Don’t try to psycho-analyze me, Sam.” Voice a rough snap, Dean shoves past him and follows after Bryant.  
  
Sam stands there for a long moment, staring at the tense set to Dean’s shoulders, when abruptly he stumbles, grabbing at the air as every noise in the shop disappears into nothing. Sighing, Sam bites the inside of his cheek before moving to join them.   
  
Bryant’s digging through a shelf of books that look like they belong in some haunted library, and Sam gets passing glimpses of the titles - _Encyclopedia of Occultism & Parapsychology, Demonology & Spiritism, Dictionary of Mysticism and the Esoteric Traditions_.  
  
“That’s quite a collection,” Dean’s saying, a smirk on his face as Sam approaches. “Got anything in there about how to get demon-speak off your ass?”  
  
Bryant laughs, catching Sam’s gaze and smiling brighter. “I have to get to the hotel here soon…you guys are welcome to stay and hunt around for whatever you need. It’d all be back here. Just lock up whenever you leave.”  
  
“Thanks, Bryant. I appreciate it.” Sam catches the set of keys tossed his way, forcing a smile as his friend nods and ducks out again. Dean’s staring at him openly now, and once he hears the jingle of the door closing, Sam turns on his brother with a scowl. “What?”  
  
“Dude, he was totally checking you out.”  
  
Of all the things Sam had expected to hear… “ _What?_ ”   
  
Dean won’t meet his gaze, thumbing through one of the dusty books and lifting a brow. “Wow, Greek. Swell.” Rolling his eyes, he closes the spine and then drops the heavy tome on the counter.  
  
“Dean,” Sam starts slowly, pulse a rapidfire thrum in his veins as he stares at his brother. “What did you…”  
  
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice, Sam.” Dean lets out a laugh that sounds anything but amused, awkwardly shoving a hand through his hair until it’s standing up and spiky. “Dude looked at me like he was trying to figure out if I was a threat to his pretty little eye candy.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam feels his cheeks go hot, and turns to grab a book of his own. He’s not sure why it’s so weird for Dean to point out what he’s known for years…Bryant’s gay, sure, it’s no big deal. But for Dean to notice the attraction there and comment on it would mean…  
  
Sam shoves that thought out of his head before it has a chance to fully develop and drive him insane. Still flushed and on edge, he mutters, “Let’s just find what we need, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, whatever.” Dean sounds bored now, flipping through the pages and humming _Ain’t My Bitch_ under his breath. Sam frowns, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, but stays silent.  
  
An hour and two full renditions of the _Ride the Lightning_ album later, Sam finally finds something, although he’s not sure whether or not it makes him feel any better. “Well, looks like we can do one of two things.”  
  
The whistling stops and he immediately has Dean’s full attention. “Yeah?”  
  
Sam lifts his gaze, mouth twisted into a wry smile. “We can either wait for it to wear off on its own – says here these kinds of things don’t last very long, regardless – or…”  
  
“Or?” Dean’s eyes are narrowed.  
  
“ _Or_ ,” Sam emphasizes, sighing as he closes the book with a snap, “we can donate a blood sacrifice to the coven the daemon associates with. Which would involve days of research to figure out which one, not to mention sharp knives to the symbol the imp left behind, and lots and lots of—”  
  
“Wait for it to wear off, it is.” Dean looks a little green around the edges, and Sam bites back a snort when his brother absently rubs his left asscheek and grumbles, “Little bastard. Well, we just do what we have to do and keep on, right?”  
  
Sam can’t help it, even as the words pass his lips. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”  
  
He has to admit to being impressed when Dean tells him several anatomically impossible ways to go fuck himself. In Latin.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
It’s been two days of being holed up in the hotel with Sam after discovering they had nothing left to do but wait, and Dean’s starting to feel not only a little claustrophobic, but way too fucking aware of every move his brother makes. The ten feet rule has thrown everything off somehow, making Dean notice things he never would’ve thought to see before.  
  
Like the way Sam focuses so intensely on everything that interests him, whether it be a boring book on civil law or a baseball game on TV. Or, on the occasion it’s warranted, Dean himself. Those times it’s all Dean can do not to fidget beneath the weight of that dark stare, and he usually winds up excusing himself to go to the bathroom, not even caring if it’s within the allotted distance so long as it gets him _some_ sort of privacy.  
  
He…he sees _too much_ now, and other times nothing at all. He’d chalk it all up to some weirdass effect from the curse, but the curse probably couldn’t be blamed for all of the _other_ occasional odd ideas he’s had from time to time. Sure, he’s thought of forcing Sam to his knees and shutting him the fuck up, or changing the pitch of his brother’s snippy tone to something a whole helluva lot more pleasant with his hands and mouth, but…who didn’t think those things from time to time? Didn’t mean he actually _meant_ them, or would’ve done anything about it.  
  
Only now…he doesn’t know how true that is.  
  
Even now, he’s trying not to stare as Sam does his nightly regime of push-ups and crunches. Tries not to notice the slight sheen covering the golden surface of his brother’s skin as he pants and brings his elbow up to his waist and back down again. Jesus, Dean’s seen Sam do this for _years_ and more recently, every single night for the past several months.  
  
So, yeah, sure, he’s had the occasional drunken inappropriate thought about Sam. But he’s never wanted to taste the sweat before.  
  
“I think I want a beer.” He comes to his feet and drops the half-cleaned gun barrel to the floor. From the corner of his eye, he sees Sam slow and stop, sitting up on his elbows to look at him.  
  
“Now?” His brother’s confusion is pretty clear – there’s been an unspoken agreement between the two of them that they’d stay out of sight until things got back to normal, but Dean’s starting to itch beneath his skin and knows he has to get out or _something’s_ gonna happen.  
  
“Yeah.” He tosses off a careless smirk, already reaching for his jacket as Sam’s mouth falls open on a quiet breath. “Uh, don’t wait up, okay?”  
  
“Exactly how are you planning to get there, Stevie Wonder?” Sam’s sarcastic reply comes, and Dean pauses only briefly before shrugging the leather over his shoulder. “Gonna feel your way down the street?”  
  
“Real sensitive, Sammy,” he says, feigning hurt he doesn’t feel. “Nice to know it’s so easy for you to mock the vision-impaired.”  
  
“That’s so _not_ …” Sam huffs out a breath , coming to his feet and moving closer. Dean turns away before he can see the concern coloring his brother’s flushed features. But that doesn’t mean he can’t still _hear_ Sam’s too-gentle voice ask, “Dean, what’s going on?”  
  
“Nothing,” he says a little too quickly, and he knows Sam takes note of it. Files it away in that massive brain that remembers every damn thing like it happened five minutes ago. Confusion, panic thickens and tightens his voice. “Just need some fucking air, man.”  
  
There’s a moment of silence, and then Sam says, “I’ll go with you.”  
  
_Yeah, that’s not really helping, Sammy…_  
  
“No, you stay here.” Dean’s tone brooks no argument, even when he turns to find Sam staring at him like he’s gone crazy. Maybe he has. Still, he works up a smirk and pats his brother on the shoulder, trying to ignore the solid feel of Sam’s flesh beneath his palm. There’s only a small tremble in his voice when he adds, “I’ll get a cab. Won’t be a big deal.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
“I need some space, okay? I swear, I’m starting to feel like we really are joined at the hip.” It doesn’t come out as easy as he’d’ve liked, and Sam seems to gather at least a glimmer of what’s really bugging him, because he steps back immediately and lets Dean shove past and out the door. He feels Sam’s gaze burning into his back, even when he can no longer see the path in front of him.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
Sam’s pretty sure Freud would have a field day with the Winchesters. Even before the curse hit and completely fucked his equilibrium all to hell, there was nothing remotely resembling normal in the family dynamic between him and Dean. Sam adores his big brother beyond reason, even when he wants to punch the cocky grin off of Dean’s face with his fist, and Dean…well, Dean’s always had an unnatural attachment to Sam. Sam figures it’s because of their mother and the fire, but he’s never actually had the balls to come out and ask Dean about it. Isn’t sure he wants to see Dean’s expression go tight with the memories, the corners of his eyes crinkling and making him look years older and tired.  
  
Thanks to the curse, Sam can make a new addendum to the What’s Fucked Up About Sam and Dean autobiography. The sheer fact that he finds himself watching Dean and waiting for Dean to admit, just fucking _admit_ that he wants him is enough to warrant its own chapter. He feels obsessed and restless, uncertain and yet, absolutely sure.  
  
He never should’ve let Dean go to that bar alone.  
  
This is thrown into light the second Dean finally stumbles back inside the hotel room hours later, laughter scratchy and husky and way more drunk than the single beer he’d claimed to desire. Of course, Sam has expected all of this. What he _hadn’t_ expected, and probably should have, is the accompanying female giggles that echo in the dark room, and he goes stiff beneath the sheets.  
  
Dean doesn’t even bother to take it somewhere else, across the room, to the car. Just plops down beside Sam with an _oof_ and pulls the girl down after him. Sam stays frozen on his side of the bed and absolutely does _not_ think about what’s happening next to him. It’s enough that he can _hear_ the low voices, can practically feel the raw sexual heat emanating from Dean as his brother helps the nameless stranger out of her clothes.  
  
“Mmm…such a bad boy,” she murmurs, and Sam imagines her licking her lips, shaking out the long mop of red hair he caught only a glimpse of. “What if he wakes up?”  
  
“He won’t.” Sam’s fingers clench in his pillow at the rough, gritty lie. “Sammy’s a heavy sleeper.”  
  
Sam used to wake up when Dean’s breathing pattern changed, so he really doesn’t know what to make of that, aside from the fact that Dean just really wants to get laid and doesn’t plan on letting the curse stop him.  
  
Well, Sam’s willing to play along. He can’t say he’s not a little turned on by the sheer _wrongness_ of this entire thing. It reminds him a bit of the time he’d caught Dean getting sucked off by one of the varsity cheerleaders back behind the bleachers and instead of walking away, had stuck around to watch.  
  
There’s moaning coming from them now, and Sam resists the urge to shift and press himself down and into the mattress. He tells himself it’s the girl…he hasn’t heard the sound of feminine pleasure since Jess, and it’s still a sore enough spot that guilt prickles behind his eyes, but he can’t deny that a little of it’s because of Dean. He’s never quite heard his brother sound like _this_ …voice all husky and shot as he growls, “Spread your legs a little more for me.”  
  
Sam’s breath catches, dick swelling, but he remains silent. Dean knows he’s awake, but he isn’t trying to temper his words or actions at all, just keeps a running commentary of filth and nasty suggestions that have Sam gritting his teeth to keep from blowing his - _their_ \- cover. They’re gonna have to have a talk when this is all said and done, there’s no use pretending otherwise after _this_ , but for now…  
  
“Turn over.” Dean’s voice is steady and commanding, and Sam feels the mattress shift beneath him as the woman complies. “Face the wall, on your side.”  
  
That gets Sam’s attention. Everything goes still for a split-second, and then he’s turning in tandem with the roll of Dean’s body against him, and finally, he _sees_. Freckled shoulders cut with muscle and patterned with scars, curved spine, naked hips. Sam stares at the imperfections and thinks he’s never seen anything prettier. In the darkness, he listens to the wet slick-slide of latex and flesh, watches the spot beneath his brother’s hips hollow with each thrust, feels himself grow harder.  
  
There’s a part of him still willing to chalk all of this up to his own perverted wishful thinking, when Dean slides back, ass brushing up against Sam’s front. They both still, the sound of joint panting punctuating the soft feminine cries, and then Sam moves. Just enough, just a small flutter of his hips, and Dean growls low.   
  
Sam breathes, bites his lip, and does it again, reaching down inside his sweats to palm himself. Fingers brush his stomach; Dean takes hold of one side of his waistband and tugs it down, then the other, until Sam’s freed and gasping into his shoulder.   
  
_Oh, God. Dean. My cock’s practically in your ass._ It feels too, too fucking good.  
  
“So pretty,” Sam whispers, lips burning against Dean’s throat as his brother swallows and bucks back a little more. Sam’s mouth curves against Dean’s neck, hands finding the cut of Dean’s hips as he pulls him closer, farther away from the girl. “You like hearing how pretty you are, don’t you?”  
  
“Fuck…” Dean’s aiming for short and annoyed, but his voice catches on a low whine when Sam digs in with his thumbs, rolling in languid circles. Sam thrusts against him, feeling the slow tremble beginning under Dean’s skin, and goes hot all over when Dean starts driving into the girl until a squeak’s ripped from her throat.  
  
“Dean.” The name’s torn from his own, hoarse and broken, and he doesn’t even care anymore that Dean can hear his jealousy. He just wants…he wants to end this entire _game_ , or raise the stakes to an entirely new level. And he wants to pound Dean’s tight little ass through the mattress until his brother isn’t thinking about anyone other than Sam.  
  
He tightens his grip, branding his thoughts and emotion through the pads of his fingers as Dean chokes out another curse. Sam brings his mouth up Dean’s jaw, under his ear and murmurs, “Get rid of her.”  
  
Dean doesn’t answer with words, just arches back and lets Sam lick the tender shell of his ear. He’s thrumming all over and breathing in short, staccato bursts as the girl works his dick harder, but then he reaches back and takes Sam in hand, squeezing and rolling his palm.  
  
“I love you. _I_ can give you what you want,” Sam manages, begs, nuzzling Dean’s shoulder and panting through his teeth when those blunt fingertips continue to jack him off. “Let her go and I will.”  
  
It’s more than just getting rid of this girl, and they both know it. It’s about getting rid of _everyone_ …every _thing_. It’s been Sam and Dean for so long that Sam doesn’t quite understand why it’s taken so long for them to become SamandDean. And yeah, it’d taken a stupid curse for him to really get it, but he knows now that there’s no way to fix this. No magic words or enchantments that’ll make this sudden and overwhelming desire for his _big brother_ disappear.   
  
“Tell her to leave,” he says again, excitement and hope weighing his voice down.   
  
Dean shivers, twisting his neck so Sam can keep flicking his tongue against the pulse point there, but whispers, “N-No.”  
  
Sam doesn’t realize until after it’s out that that’s the one word he never wants to hear from Dean’s lips. That it’s the one word he _won’t tolerate_ from the brother who gives him everything he wants, whether Sam wants to acknowledge it or not. It doesn’t sound _right_ coming from Dean, and Sam won’t accept it. Sam’s a selfish bastard in that.  
  
When he sinks his teeth into the developed muscle of Dean’s shoulder, tasting salt-sweat and feeling the raise of freckles against his tongue, he relishes Dean’s sharp inhalation and sucks a bruise to the surface. “Her or me.”   
  
“ _Sammy_.” Dean sounds like he's not sure what’s going on, even though he was the one to bring the girl here, into _their_ bed, and fuck her while Sam lay there awake and pining.  
  
That gives Sam reason enough. “Last time you didn’t listen to me, we got cursed,” he purrs, dark and filthy, into Dean’s ear. “Gon’fuck it up again, Dean? Her. Or. Me?”  
  
He feels Dean breathing, weighing his options, and begins to pull away. The second his cock slips out from Dean’s fingers, Dean starts as if coming out of a trance. “Okay,” he says too loudly, too panicked, and Sam lets out a shaky breath and smooths his hand down Dean’s shoulder, reassuring them both.  
  
“What?” The girl sounds dreamy and disoriented, and Sam grits his teeth when he hears the sloppy-wet sound of Dean’s dick sliding free. _Never again._  
  
Dean doesn’t waste time with explanations, all but throws the unsuspecting woman out the door in what Sam would normally consider bad manners and chastise his brother over, but right now it’s all he can do not to shove Dean up against the wall and fuck an apology from those too-pretty pink lips. Instead, he sits up on his elbows, curling his fingers around his cock and watching Dean through dark, slitted eyes when his brother turns back around.  
  
“Jesus.” This time, there’s no mistaking the tone of Dean’s voice. He seems frozen by the door, gaze fully trained on every slow thrust Sam makes into his fist, and Sam swallows a groan when Dean’s tongue darts out to lick across his mouth.  
  
“C’mere.” He bites his lip, letting his lashes fall even more. Waiting to see if Dean will obey, hoping like hell the answer will be yes.  
  
Dean comes, cocky smirk firmly in place, and puts one knee up on the bed as Sam watches silently. There’s concern glittering beneath the challenge in Dean’s gaze. “What, no lecture on how wrong this is? On how it’s not _normal_?” he asks, spitting out the word like a curse. His eyes are eyes lit and burning, and Sam half-laughs at the stray thought that Dean would’ve _ever_ been a compliant bottom.  
  
Even so…  
  
“You need me to kill bad things, I do. You need me to fuck you, I will.” He holds Dean’s stare, noting every shift in expression as his brother’s eyes go wide and he licks his lips again. Sam lets his voice go a little softer when he adds, “None of this is normal, Dean. We just do what we have to do and keep on, right?”  
  
Dean only flinches a little at having his words about the symbols echoed, and then he lifts his chin and meets Sam’s gaze with heat and not a little worry. “This is different, Sam.”  
  
Sam matches Dean’s carefully casual tone, releasing his dick and sitting up higher against the headboard. “It’s really not. Lie down and spread yourself open for me.”  
  
The smug look on Dean’s face fades away, surprise coloring his cheeks and making his eyes go heavy and dark as he starts to stammer, looking anywhere but at Sam. “I… _what?_ ” he finally lurches out, sounding more intrigued than horrified.  
  
Sam moves closer, emboldened by the dark and the curse and the knowledge that _Dean wants this_ , whether or not he’s playing coy or arrogant about it. He pitches his voice low, nearly tasting the shudder that runs through Dean’s body when he says, “Or you can roll over, on your knees, and I’ll fuck you silly that way. But I really wanna see your face when I slide my cock deep in you…don’t you want that, Dean?”   
  
Dean opens his mouth like he’s got something to say, and then closes it again with an audible _click._ He’s on his back before Sam can blink, eyes squeezed shut tight, and Sam lets out a breath through his teeth. “That’s good,” he murmurs, reaching out and running his hand from the puckered scar on Dean’s knee - _kelpie bite, Cedar Island Lake_ \- to the thick cock pressing up against Dean’s lower belly. He wrinkles his nose at the sight of the wet latex, quickly removing the condom and dragging a telltale grunt deep from Dean’s throat.  
  
“Much better,” Sam says, looking up with a smile that warms his gaze as he pulls gently on Dean’s bared flesh. “So fucking pretty.”  
  
“Sam.” It’s weak sounding, uncertain, and Sam hesitates. No matter how much he wants this, how much he thinks they _need_ it, he’s not going to force Dean into it. But then he looks up, catches Dean’s eyes open and lidded and burning as bright as his cheeks, and every concern he has evaporates.  
  
“Shh.” He closes his fingers around Dean’s cock, smiling sharply when Dean bucks up into his fist. “Don’t bother getting worked up, you want this. I’ll make it good, okay? Just…” A groan spills from his mouth as Dean just keeps staring at him, and Sam leans down and captures those chewed-pink lips with his own. “Gotta fuck you,” he says in between hot licks at Dean’s mouth, blood rushing north to south when Dean lets out an unrecognizable sound and lifts his legs to frame Sam’s hips.  
  
He takes hold of Dean’s thigh, bending it almost up to his chest and sticking two fingers in his mouth. He sucks, watching Dean through his lashes as his brother’s throat works, then reaches down between Dean’s legs. He’s never done this before, but it all seems pretty self-explanatory. Still, he’s not at all prepared for the tight clench of muscle around his finger, and judging by the low, slurred curse dripping from Dean’s lips, neither is he.  
  
All he can hear is Dean’s quick breathing, interspersed with hoarse grunts and groans, but his brother’s not trying to stop him. Sam adds another finger, hocking back in his throat and then into his hand before rubbing in a slick circle around Dean’s hole. He knows enough to realize that he’s gotta get in there quick, before his spit cools and dries or either one of them changes their mind.   
  
“Relax for me,” he breathes, mouthing the underside of Dean’s jaw, slipping his fingers free and pressing the head of his cock where Dean’s wet and stretched-swollen. “Let me in.”  
  
Dean grits his teeth, eyes flashing, but nods. He turns and presses his cheek into the pillow as Sam presses forward with his dick. Dean’s pretty lips part on a breath, the muscles in his neck standing out in stark relief as he hisses and squirms underneath Sam.  
  
That first thrust burns them both, and Sam drops his head into the crook of Dean’s shoulder, swallowing hard as he’s gripped and sucked up by warm, tender flesh. “Goddamn,” he slurs, moist and heated, fingers digging into Dean’s thigh so deep he knows he’s left marks. That thought alone drags a pulse from his hips, and he sinks in that much more. “So good, baby, so so good…”  
  
He doesn’t even think about the endearment, then winces in expectation of Dean’s response. But his brother just cusses, low and filthy, and reaches up for Sam’s hair. “Stop being such a damn girl and fuck my ass,” Dean growls, pulling the shaggy strands through his fingers so Sam’s forced to look up and into Dean’s eyes. He sees the want there, along with first-time pain, and goes even harder.  
  
“Put your hands back,” he says, eyeing the headboard behind Dean, “’cause I’m not gonna stop pounding your ass if you get a headache.”  
  
“Shit.” But Dean reaches back, curling strong fingers around cheap, carved wood and braces himself as Sam takes hold of his hips and _thrusts._ When Dean finally gives way around him, Sam lets out a breathless cry, vision blurring like he was the one cursed without sight.  
  
Dean’s moaning in his ear - _harder, hurts, more_ \- and Sam snaps his hips and watches the flush paint his brother’s cheeks with pale glow in the moonlight. He looks down, sees Dean resting soft between their bellies, and wants to stop, wants to make him feel what Sam’s feeling. But he keeps fucking instead, trembling and sweat-soaked. “Christ, I…you feel…”  
  
It’s on him so quick he barely has time to cry out a hoarse warning, jerking back and out of Dean and fisting himself before the first silky-warm splashes shoot out and across Dean’s stomach. A litany of oaths burns his lips, eyes and voice heavy as Dean pants and stretches under him.  
  
“God, Sam.”  
  
Still shuddering and over-sensitized, Sam bends low and sucks Dean’s nipple between his lips. Dean jerks, moaning and arching up, and Sam pulls back enough to say, “Gon’take care of you now.”  
  
Dean shakes his head, something undefinable flashing through sleepy green eyes. “Don’t have to, I—” He trails off, voice catching as Sam’s mouth drifts lower, spreading warmth along every rib and ridge.   
  
“Always take care of me,” is all Sam says, voice thick and fucked-out. “My turn. Shut up and let me.” He takes Dean’s cock in his mouth, tasting spice and musk and a faint plastic flavor from the condom. Dean’s breathing harder, but doesn’t thrust or move or encourage Sam in any way, and that just won’t do.  
  
There’s come drying on Dean’s belly - _his come_ \- and Sam breathes it through flared nostrils, sucking on the hardening flesh in his mouth as Dean starts to come around and lifts his hips in the tiniest surge upward. Sam rests his palm on Dean’s hip, gentle and persuasive, and just like that Dean’s got both hands in his hair and is fucking past Sam’s lips like he’s got something to prove.  
  
_Yeah, just like that,_ Sam thinks, rubbing his palm up across Dean’s waist and finding the cooling strings across his belly. His thumb circles, gathering the wetness and spreading it absently as Dean groans and drives up.  
  
“Your fucking mouth,” Dean purrs, sounding a little surprised and a lot satisfied. “Ah, Christ, _Sam_ …”  
  
The gentle inflection has Sam bearing down harder, grazing lightly with his teeth, and Dean comes with a soft and heated curse, flavoring Sam’s tongue with thick salt and bitter. Sam gags, but doesn’t try to pull away, reaching down and feeling Dean stretched wide and swollen. _Remembering._  
  
Although he doubts either of them are forgetting this any time soon.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
Dean wishes he could forget everything from the night before. God only knows he’d drank enough to do so, but he has the feeling that it’d take all the tequila in Mexico and then some to completely erase the feeling of Sam fucking him deep and sucking him off so slow and sweet. Just thinking about it’s enough to have his dick stirring again where it’s pressed up against Sam’s naked hip, and Dean goes still and tries to judge the pattern of Sam’s breathing.  
  
His brother murmurs something, shifting a little and wrinkling his nose in his sleep, and Dean doesn’t want to find that sexy. Not at all. Especially when he has no fucking intention of letting _that_ happen again. He had the alcohol to blame before, but doesn’t think the excuse will carry much weight if he rolls over and takes Sam’s cock into his mouth the way he so desperately wants to right about now.  
  
_Jesus._  
  
He’s sore and achy deep down, swollen from Sam’s tender abuse, and can’t hold back the shudder when he remembers the dark hint to Sam’s tone. The way his _baby brother_ held him down and fucked him, fucking _possessed_ him. He’d never known Sam had it in him, really.  
  
“What’re you thinking about?”  
  
Dean starts at the slurred words, turning his head so quickly that a sharp burn slices through the back of his neck and he lets out a soft hiss before meeting Sam’s sleep-heavy gaze. Clearing his throat, he manages to lift his lips into something resembling a smile. “Uh, hey.”  
  
Sam quirks a brow, rolling and stretching lazily from fingers to toes as Dean watches and imagines a giant cat waking from slumber. It’s such a romantic thought for _him_ , and it drags a flush to the surface of his features as he quickly looks away.  
  
“You’re blushing,” Sam murmurs, and Dean clenches his jaw, prepared to knock a few of those pretty white teeth loose if he catches even a hint of amusement on Sam’s face. Instead, there’s an emotion altogether different when he looks over, and he curses low and feels himself start to grow hard again. Sam reaches out, palm smoothing from shoulder to hip, voice quiet and meaningful. “How do you feel?”  
  
“Hungover,” Dean grunts, turning away so that the sun’s to his back. “Need water.”  
  
“You know your vocabulary gets pretty anemic in the morning,” Sam says easily, and Dean wants to laugh, considering the internal monologue that’s kept him up for the better part of an hour. He must’ve let out a snort or something telling, because then Sam’s leaning over his shoulder, heated breath warming Dean’s cheek as he whispers, “What’s funny?”  
  
And it’s just too damn early for this, for _Sam_ , for any of it. “You’re poking me in the ass,” Dean mumbles into the pillow, immediately squeezing his eyes shut when he feels Sam go still as stone behind him. Then the bed starts to shake, and Dean hears the laughter bubbling up in Sam’s throat.  
  
“God, Dean.” He drops an openmouthed kiss on Dean’s shoulder, slipping another hand low to grasp Dean’s cock between nimble fingers. “I wanna make you come again,” he whispers in a sex-dirty tone that makes Dean shake and go blindingly hard.  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees, biting his lip and thrusting into the hot circle of Sam’s fist, easily forgetting every promise he’d made to himself during the dark hours that Sam slept. Still, he can’t help but choke out, “Fuck, Sam, this is _so_ wrong.”  
  
“Our middle name,” Sam jokes, and then he’s mouthing Dean’s neck and Dean can’t focus on anything but the soft glow of the alarm clock in his face. He can’t make out the numbers, not with Sam’s tongue tracing patterns along his jugular.  
  
“The curse,” he gets out long minutes later, after he’s come down Sam’s throat and vice versa, and he very carefully eases himself away from Sam’s sweat-soaked grasp. Sam lets out a little sound of protest, but finally lets him sit up. “How much fucking longer can it last?”  
  
“No idea.” Sam’s rubbing the small of his back, huge hands slip-sliding in slick perspiration. “Wanna head back over and see what else Bryant has to say?”  
  
Dean tosses him a look over his shoulder. “Wanna feel my foot up your ass?”  
  
Sam sighs and drops his hand. “I don’t know when it’ll be over, Dean. Could be days, weeks…the texts weren’t clear. I just don’t know.”  
  
“Well, I gotta take a piss.” Dean jumps up, wincing more than a little at the slow burn through his body, and heads for the bathroom. It’s only after he’s finished washing his hands that he realizes he’s staring at himself in the mirror, and Sam’s lying in a bed fifteen feet away.  
  
Fifteen feet.  
  
He comes back out, finds Sam staring at him with wide eyes. “My, uh, my ass is…you know.”  
  
Sam’s lips twitch, but he nods and pulls back the sheet to reveal nothing but smooth skin. Dean stares at the place where the symbol used to be, then meets Sam’s gaze again.  
  
“You know, I don’t think I really wanna know.”  
  
Sam gets a really serious look on his face, eyes half-lidded and measuring. “All you need to know is that you should listen to me more often,” he says, voice a pointed growl. “Sometimes I _do_ actually know what I’m talking about.”  
  
“Only ‘sometimes’?” Dean cracks, turning to start a search for the coffeepot. He doesn’t even hear Sam move until it’s too late, and then he’s pressed up against the wall nose-first. “The _fuck?_ ”  
  
Sam’s low voice is rough in his ear, his dick hard against Dean’s ass. “I’m serious, Dean. You’ve gotta be more careful, you’ve gotta…” He trails off with a frustrated noise, and Dean laughs a little in the back of his throat.  
  
“Christ, you’re gonna be even more of a pain in my ass now, aren’t you?”  
  
“Damn right.” Voice brooking no argument – as if Dean plans to fucking _argue_ \- Sam pulls back a bit, arms framing Dean’s head.  
  
“Hmm.” Dean turns around and finds Sam staring down at him with a mixture of exasperation and something altogether hotter. He cocks a brow, studying Sam’s wide, pink mouth, and then clears his throat. “That’s uh, that’s good.”  
  
Sam’s lips curve slowly, and he brings his face close again, nuzzling the blossoming bruise on Dean’s shoulder with a muffled groan. Dean sways forward, caught up in memories of sharp teeth sinking into hot skin, and lets out an embarrassing sound. Sam just grins, bright and blinding. “We gotta get on the road. I can’t take this _room_ anymore.” He drops a quick kiss on Dean’s lips and slaps Dean on the ass, right over the place where the curse had branded him, and then turns and moves toward their duffle bags.  
  
Dean stands there for a minute, buck naked and feeling more than a little off-kilter. Then he drudges up a grin and struts forward to join his brother. “You know, I could really go for some doughnuts about now.”  
  
He barely misses the pillow Sam aims his way.


End file.
